Burned
by Farla
Summary: A houndour awakens in the forest, with no memories save a hazy, confused dream. Sequel to Fire
1. Chapter One

I DO OWN IT! I own it I own it I own it I own it I own it!(Just not the copyrights, which is all that matters)

This is the sequel to a story I wrote, **Fire**. It can easily be read on its own, so if you want to read this story first, it doesn't matter much. If you like it, then please go read **Fire**.

And, even compared to what I normally write, this is pretty nasty. Not so much this chapter as the next, but the story as a whole is very, very dark. You've been warned.

Burned

By Farla

He awoke, if that is the word, during the day, with soft patches of light dappling the earth below after being filtered through the gentle green tree leaves.

It was not like awaking from sleep. He had been dreaming, he felt, but it was not like sleeping. The dream had happened, then he was here, without the slow in-between time that he felt should be there. He did not remember awaking from sleep before, but he felt confident this was not the way it should have happened

He remembered, and he didn't. It wasn't hazy and confused, but clear. Some things he knew totally and utterly, others were not there. They were not hidden; they were as gone as if they had been cut out by a knife-

A knife. His dream, though, is hazy, even if his memory isn't. And the word-thought of knife touches something in it. He does not know what it is, but something tells him he does not wish to remember, should try to forget-ignore the knife-thought. That thought, the one telling him he should not try to remember, does not give any hint as to why. It simply is, much as he simply is. So he obeys.

He looks around at his surroundings. The soft light in the forest did not hurt his eyes, yet he felt certain both that if he left the forest and went into direct sunlight it would hurt, and that it did not hurt before.

The thought of _before_ does not hint at what before is. He has no memory of being out in sunlight and it not hurting his eyes. He has no memory of being in sunlight and it hurting his eyes. He simply knows. Without any memories to tell him he should try to remember and not just accept, he accepts it and does not see anything strange with his lack of knowledge.

The kind golden dots on the forest floor reassure him, pushing his dream, if it was a dream, further back. It makes him feel like this is his home, a safe place, though he knows with total certainty that this is not what his home once was, before, even though he does not remember before.

His forehead hurts. The hurt reminds him of something, and again the inner voice reminds him that he should not try to remember. Again, he obeys.

He tries to look at himself. He does not remember what he looks like, and something tells him he should. He sees a black paw-

__

Dark shadows with glowing eyes walking into the moonlight-No. The voice tells him he should not try to remember, and nothing challenges it.

He tries to talk. He may not have memories, but some things he knows. While he doesn't ever remember speaking, he can form thoughts and move his mouth to say them.

~What am I?~

The words do not come out as they should. He knows this though he does not know what they should sound like. But that only flickers through his mind, for the words remind him. Unbidden, a knife appears in his mind's eye, a blackened, charred lump (the shape is indistinguishable) holding it, red drops of blood -his blood, something tells him-appearing in the cracks. His forehead throbs. He lets out a cry of anguish before the nightmare envelops him and he remembers it.

"Hound!"

I really shouldn't be writing this. I still haven't finished Midnight's Story, and I've only got one stupid chapter to go. And school's starting tomorrow. Yay……


	2. Chapter Two

No, this isn't from the review. There was a clear set-up for a sequel at the end of Ch3.

As for the chapter itself, I did warn you.

Chapter Two

The houndour writhes on the ground, his eyes tightly closed, whimpering slightly.

Even the dream, if it was a dream, is not complete. His memory of it begins, oddly enough, at the part he is sure is the end. He does not know why he thinks this. And the dream itself is choppy and blurred. Was that how dreams should be?

Something (him? He was, he thought, looking out of its eyes) was -somewhere- and-

Pain. Painpainpainpainpain! Pain like his forehead only everywhere. PAIN!

Low sobs (his?) as (he?) moved (why?). (His?) hand-paw-arm came into (his?) view. Black, charred. Looked like- something colored he knew was not (his?) skin- in it. Movement cracking (his?) skin. Reaching for -what?

Bloodincracksofblackskinpainwithmovementwhy?

Hand-lump over drawer. Tips touch knob -painnoskinjustashandbloodPAIN- eyes (his?) go dark for moment.

Gritting (his?) teeth moves quickly grabs knob yanks open pulls back hand pain!

(he?) takes a deep breath -hurtshecanfeelchestcrackingmeltedskinbreakingbloodbubblinginhismouthandlungs**PAIN**!

-grabs knife-

coldinburningchestsharppain

-

Then darkness.


	3. Chapter Three

I should probably warn you I don't actually know where I'm going with this. Well, I know the end. I don't have a clue how to get from the beginning to that end, though. I'm going to, somehow or other, but I don't actually know yet.

Well, you're warned.

Chapter Three

Panting, he shakes his head. The dream, foggy and confused, what is it? Why is it remembered, and why is it there at all? Why is it all he has?

He shrugs, a strange contortion on a four-legged creature, and without realizing it he shakes his head slightly, dismissing the hazy fragments and banishing them from his thoughts.

He felt safe here, and was filled with unease, an incredible, frantic urge to get away. Even in his present state, he recognizes the contradiction. Why…?

He gives up trying to figure out why he feels he should leave as his belly rumbles. _That_ is more important then staying or not staying. He is hungry, and so he should find food. Whether the food is in the woods or outside them, it does not matter to him. Getting food is more important then safety. Getting food **is** safety. He nods to himself, satisfied by the prompt to action.

By the edge of the woods he comes to a berry tree. He feels a momentary feeling of relief— he won't need to go out into the day— which is swiftly followed by confusion—didn't he think it was a good idea to leave?

His stomach rumbles and once again he dismisses his confusion until his hunger is satisfied. The branches are low and laden with berries. He starts to eat.

Later, once the pain in his stomach has vanished, he curls up underneath the tree. The berries aren't filling, but they do get rid of his hunger. There is food, and the bright sunlight is more insistent here, though still muffled. The light makes him feel incredibly tired. As he lies down a single faint, fugitive thought flits through his head, that he shouldn't be going to sleep, that it's day and he should be awake, that something is very wrong, but he is tired and the thought fades as he goes to sleep.

He awakes— and he spares a moment to notice this time is different from the first time— when something slams him into the tree.

Opening sleep-blurred eyes, he sees a red, four-legged creature that looks a little like

-DemonshadowsstandinginmoonlightFEAR-

As he focuses, he recognizes it -he has never seen one before. He has never seen anything before. So why is it familiar?

Snarling, it spits out something red and orange.

He growls back, charging at the red thing. The flames hit him head-on, but without effect for a moment. The heat seems pleasant, almost, and then-

He yowls, his forehead sending daggers of pain through him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even realize the cause of his pain, and slams into the confused creature.

There is something about it. Not only is it familiar, but it is connected to something else. A bad something. But he is not afraid of it. Or anything like it. But he is. It scares him, while it itself does not. But how can the creature mean fear when he is not afraid of it?

The growlithe, taking advantage of his confusion and mental search, sends another ember attack. This time, he jumps out of the way, associating it with the pain on his head, but before he can recover the growlithe tackles him again.

He has to do something, but what?

He stands there, trying to remember, or learn, since he doesn't know if he knows it.

Then he lunges at the other and bites down hard on its neck. Warm, sweet blood fills his mouth as he worries the wound. The growlithe howls in pain, thrashing wildly, but he holds on. Soon it is still.

The little berries he ate are already gone from his stomach, and they weren't filling to begin with. Hungrily, he rips at the meat until he is full, gorging.


	4. Chapter Four

These chapters are probably all going to be short. I don't know - it's just the way it happens. Each chapter is small, I guess, because that's what his world is. And confusing, because that's how his world is.  
  
Ch04  
  
By Farla  
  
  
  
His belly is full but he does not stay. The bright light dims and he feels the need to move. He glances at the carcass, and the thing that did not scare him while alive, that did not scare him when dead, now, looking at the remains, rib cage poking through everything covered in blood, he feels a sense of unease.  
  
And the light is dimming and his legs itch with the urge to run and there is the thing behind him by the nearly stripped berry tree and so he leaves.  
  
It is grassland at first, high grass that makes him feel safe and terrified at the same time, and he doesn't know why this is. Nothing can see him and he can see nothing and he doesn't know what to be afraid of. He moves, but not fast, simply walking, not even trotting along, the sharp blades striking him in the face an almost meaningless annoyance and yet he has to slow wants to-  
  
But his paws are below and behind his head and that's not it anyway. He tries to lift them anyway, just a little, to see if that's it but that isn't it he's sure of it but he doesn't know what is and he breaks into a run shooting through the blades tiny cuts opening on his muzzle and sides and he jumps and then-  
  
Nothing. Air. He looks around, feeling small soft baby blades below him and behind him is the tall grass and why is this place different and so familiar?  
  
In front of him, not close but he can see it, is a brown line like but not like the forest floor, not the right color exactly but it is the right color and maybe the forest is the wrong color and he doesn't even understand his own thoughts because he knows that the tall grass and the forest floor are right and not just because he saw them first and that this new place, the not-grass and the not-forest are alien and yet they are the ones that are familiar to him.  
  
And he is afraid and he is here and this is the right place and he should leave it and he doesn't even know what it is.  
  
He whines softly, jumping at the sound, moving forward, staring behind him because the sound is that of-  
  
Redthingbutsmalleryetscaryhow  
  
-And it scares him and so he moves forward on the small soft baby blades toward the brown that's right or wrong or both or neither because he doesn't see anything before him and so it must be behind him.  
  
He stops at the very edge of the brown strip, not touching it. His paws still in the grass as if held there by iron, he leans over, sniffing with his soft black nose just above the dust feeling the tiny bits of dirt on it and-  
  
And NO this was not it not it at all wrong not right he hadn't he shouldn't why was he because he COULDN'T and he had to stop doing it now because he wasn't able to to begin with and so it was impossible he was doing it now and so he wasn't.  
  
Gingerly, he stepped onto the dirt path, which felt so different under his paws then the grass or the forest and not familiar at all, and meekly began to walk along the path, breathing through his mouth instead of nose. 


End file.
